


We That Are Left

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Gen, Remembrance Day, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	We That Are Left

**Author's Note:**

> Rememberance Day fic. Not Stony, but read into it if you must.  
> The poem is from **For The Fallen** by Laurence Binyon.

It's cold.

It's not freezing, but it's cold enough to be uncomfortable, and Tony has no gloves and wears only a light jacket. The streets are wet from last night's drizzle and it soaks through his expensive shoes. He forces down a shiver.

Tony has lost track of how long it has been that they have been standing there, he and Steve, two bodies in a crowd of hundreds. They're near the front of the throng, but blending in with the wall of bodies around them. Two guys in coats in a crowd of a thousand guys in coats.

There is a woman with a microphone standing facing the crowd, and she is speaking into it, and the crowd of hundreds is listening. Just listening. Men and women and children of all ages and all races with the only thing in common being the felt poppies on their coat lapels.

**They went with songs to the battle, they were young.  
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.**

The wind blows, and Tony shivers. The flag atop the pole behind the woman waves energetically in the sudden gust, stars and stripes brilliant against the canvas of grey sky. The memorial behind where she stands is littered with a thousand little felt poppies and fake wreathes of the same flowers - some are children's efforts, of cardboard and marker and glue, others more sophisticated in store-bought plastic. The red of the flowers is sharp contrast with the gray stone and the gray streets and the gray sky.

**They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,  
They fell with their faces to the foe.**

Tony shifts from one foot to the other foot, because his feet are growing sore and his brand new, ten-grand, two-inch lift shoes were made for show and not for standing around in the streets in front of a war memorial in the cold. He does not look at Steve. He does not look at the woman speaking. He stares at the ground ahead of his feet. Someone has dropped one of their little felt poppies and it lies there on the pavement, upside-down. The pin is sticking up in the air. It is crushed on one side where someone has walked on it.

**They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old**

Steve is crying. Tony has been trying to ignore that for awhile now, but it is becoming increasingly difficult. They are close enough, jostled together by the crowd around them, that he can feel the heat coming off the soldier's body. Steve is never cold. Tony is jealous. He stares at the upside-down poppy on the ground. He has been twisting his own pin round and round in his fingers for some time now, slowly shredding the red felt into little pieces.

**Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.**

Steve stands tall, military-straight beside him. Tony can feel the tension, the stiffness in the man's body. He can hear the quiet noise of Steve crying and making no attempt to hide it. Tony lets the shredded pieces of his poppy fall from his clenched fist and they scatter and blow away in the wind, little confetti bits of red along the pavement.

**At the going down of the sun and in the morning,  
We will remember them.**

He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye, the man out of time. Steve holds his chin high. There are tears glistening on his cheeks, caught in the light of the sun. Tony looks away again, back down at the ground. He wants to do something, anything. But he does not know what to do or what to say so he does what Tony Stark does best which is nothing.

The crowd is beginning to disperse. The memorial is over. Tony watches someone's boot step on the discarded felt poppy. The boot is muddy and it leaves a print on one side of the red felt. He does not look up from the ground. Steve does not move, standing as still and as straight as he always has been. His hand is very near to Tony's, and Tony has a strange urge to take it. It's a stupid urge so he does not.

Steve does not look at Tony and Tony does not look at Steve, but they stand there together side by side, two guys in coats in the cold and the wet until the crowd has gone completely - even the old guys in their wheelchairs - and the people have packed up the sound equipment and left, and still they stand there. One of the little pieces of Tony's shredded poppy blows along the pavement ahead of them. He wonders where the rest of the little pieces have wound up.

Steve turns then, as if on command, and he walks away down the road, past the upside down poppy and the little confetti bit that used to be a part of Tony's, and past the garbage strewn over the curb and the puddles from last night's rain. Tony has to hurry to keep up with him. He wants to say something, _I'm sorry_ , perhaps, or _Happy Remembrance Day_ , but these things sound stupid to his ears so he stays silent like he has the whole service.

They walk all the way home, Steve crying silently and Tony pretending not to notice and not speaking. They do not look at each other. But when they reach the pavement outside of the tower Steve turns to him and Tony is glad to see his face is finally dry.

"Thank you." he says very quietly. "Yeah." says Tony, who speaks for the first time all morning. 

They don't say anything else, but that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to wish everyone a happy Remembrance day, and I hope you will all take the time to remember the brave people who fought and who are fighting for our freedom.


End file.
